what it takes to live
by Brownies Fans and Other Stuff
Summary: A series of murder cases brings the BAU and NCIS teams togeather. Can the profiliers work with one of their own in the hospital? And can anyone figure out what's going on with Tony? Slash, don't like, don't read. not tony/spence. Flames will make smores.
1. Chapter 1

**Brownie: hey all, it's me. I decided to go in a different direction. This idea came to me when I was searching NCIS fics. Don't worry to all of you who are reading Band Camp, I'm still working on that one, but maybe a little more slowly, if that's possible. This will be a Criminal Minds and NCIS crossover. There will definitely be some weird parings, thanks to monkey-**

**Monkey: hi! ;)**

**Brownie: that I will try to make work, but no promises. This is sort of my pilot for this fandom, so please bear with me.**

**Monkey: if she screws it up, she'll just blame me anyway.**

**Brownie: I might change the parings I had in mind, so send me feedback on what you want to see. No promises, though. Anyway, on with the angst! **

What it takes to live

Time stood still. I felt like I was being suffocated. I couldn't hear anything, not the doctor's grim report, not my friends' tears and pain filled questions, not even my own heartbeat. I especially didn't want to hear that damned heart beat. That damned heart that is making me feel this way.

I get up and leave the room, unconscious of the others' protests. This can't be happening. This _isn't _happening. He's always been there, he always _will_ be there. He can't die. He just can't. Not before I've had a chance to talk to him, to tell him that I-

The hospital is too clean, too quiet. It's oppressive, and I feel like I'm suffocating again. I make my way down to the lobby and keep going. I have to get out of there. Vaguely, I hear someone call my name, but I keep going. I can't stay there, not right now.

I run, not caring where I'm going, just running, trying to outdistance reality. Trying to outrun my thoughts, my emotions. _This isn't happening._ The scenery around me is a blur. I notice that there are trees, lots of trees. A park.

I keep running 'till I collapse and fall onto a nearby bench. Gasping for breath, I rest my head on my hands. _This isn't real. It can't be._ I just have to keep repeating that and everything will be alright. But deep down, I know that nothing can make this right.

My phone rings and I look up. I barely register that it's dark out. I don't know how long I sat in that park, thinking.

My phone rings again and I pull it out to look at the caller id. Hotch. I don't want to talk to him right now. I know what he'll say. He'll ask questions that I can't answer, not without losing my job. The phone rings a third time and goes to voicemail. I don't check to see if he's left a message. What's the point?

I get up and walk towards the direction of the hospital. I'm not going back, just getting near enough to a road to catch a cab. I can't go back. I can't stand to be there, seeing everyone's questioning faces, seeing _him_ like that, seeing, knowing that- I just can't do it.

My phone rings again and I sigh. I should have turned it off after Hotch called. I glance at the caller id and see Garcia's name. She knows. Of course she knows, she knew before I even realized what was going on. I could talk to her, she'd understand. But somehow, I just couldn't do it. Hearing the worry in her voice that she would so carefully try to hide, hearing the false assurances, the false comforts, would all just be too much.

I reach the road and look around. The hospital is across the street, a looming reminder of why I'm standing at the edge of a park at 2: 18 in the morning. I call the cab company and they say that someone will be there in 5 to 10 minutes. I thank them and hang up. I can't take my eyes off the hospital. It sits there in the darkness, a cold reminder of just how much one person can lose in a matter of seconds.

The cab pulls up and I step in. I give the driver my address and settle back against the seat. Unfortunately for me, he seems to be in a talkative mood.

"Just get released?" he asks, looking at me through the mirror.

"No." Perhaps if I seem non-conversational he'll stop.

"Friend of yours in there?" No such luck, it seems.

"I guess you could say that." I don't care if I'm being rude. I just want to get home.

"You guess? Either you're friends there or not, there's no guessing about it." He looks at me funny and I glance at the paper on the back of the seat and read his name. Tony. Damn nosy Italian.

"Yes, one of my friends is in the hospital." I snap.

"What for?" Damn it, doesn't he have a sense of respect for other people's privacy? "Hey, you gonna answer?" Apparently not.

"He was shot." I reply, my voice even, yet hollow and dead.

"Ouch. He gonna be ok?"

"I don't know." My voice is soft.

"Then why aren't you there with him?" Tony looks at me, surprise evident on his face.

"Our other friends are there."

"But why aren't **you** there?" I have no response to that, so he keeps talking. "If it were me, I want to be there, just in case, you know? If my friend died and I wasn't there, even though I could've been, I'd never forgive myself."

"I just can't-" My voice is shaking.

"Can't stand to be there?" he finishes. "That's a little selfish, don't you think?"

How can I respond to that? I sit there, thinking. What if Tony right? Could I live with myself if he died? Could I stand the guilt of knowing that when things get bad, I would rather run than face them? Could I live my life knowing that I'm a coward?

"Turn around. Go back to the hospital." I tell him. I will not be a coward. Tony gives me a small smile and does as directed.

I pay Tony and get out of the car. I walk up to the front of the building and freeze up. Damn it, this shouldn't be this hard. A car honks behind me and I turn to see Tony waving me inside. I wave back and somehow that gives me the courage I need to go back into that building.

I walk to the elevators and hit the up button. It seems to take forever for the lift to get there. I step inside and push the button for the second floor. There's no one else in the elevator. All too soon the doors were opening and I was stepping out onto the floor. It's amazing how we can anticipate and dread something at the same time.

I don't want to face them, but I know I have to. They'll all be there, there's no way they left. Not like me. Not like cowards. I step into the waiting room and look around. The team is standing in the corner. They haven't noticed me yet, but it's only a matter of time.

I walk over and sit down. J.J puts a comforting arm around my shoulders. She understands, but I'm not sure if the others will. All that's left to do now is to wait. The minutes creep by slowly, as if life in ICU is in stasis. No one talks. We're all too afraid to voice what going on in our heads, because no matter how hard we try, our minds won't shut down, and all we can do is play it over and over again until nothing makes sense anymore. As profilers, we know that victims, survivors, family members drive themselves crazy trying to figure out the why's behind it all, but it's one thing to know it, and another thing entirely to experience it. No matter how hard you try, you can't stop thinking about it, about what happened, about what should have happened, about what you've said, and worse, what you haven't said, and knowing that you might never get a chance to say it. Knowing now, that lies of omission are the worst you can tell.

And suddenly, Hotch is standing and the doctors are there and everyone is standing and demanding answers. The doctor waves all of our questions away and waits for us to calm down enough so that he can deliver his news.

"The surgery was a success." He begins, and I start breathing again. Five words and everything is right again, "But there were some complications." Oh God, why? Haven't you put us through enough?

"What sort of complications?" Emily asks, her voice raw from lack of use and unshed tears.

"We lost him a couple times during the surgery. We were able to revive him, but he's slipped into a coma. We can't know for sure when, and if, he'll awake." A coma? No, that's not possible. He won't do that; he won't give up on us, not after everything this team has been through. He won't. He can't.

The doctor is talking again, "His injuries should heal without a problem, and we have faith that with time he will wake up. Time heals most wounds better than any medication. Would you like to see him?" There is a chorus of yeses and the doctor leads us down the hall to and observation window, and there he is, lying on the bed, the only indicators of life the constant beeping of the machines.

"Oh, Derek." Emily sighs, tears threatening to fall.

No one else speaks. The doctor comes back after a time and informs us that we need to leave. J.J takes my arm and says, "Come on, Spence. There's nothing we can do for him now." But now that I'm here I don't want to leave. The doctor said that time could make this right, but deep down, I know that nothing can make this right.

**brownie: Yes? No? **

**monkey: any kind of feedback would be nice, really.**

**brownie: review, and i might put the next chapter up sooner.**

**brownie & monkey: see ya!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Should we wake him?" McGee asked, looking around.

"Let him sleep, Timothy. It's not doing anyone any harm," Ducky looked up from the charts he was examining, "Although one has to wonder what would cause Anthony to fall asleep on the job."

"A late night, perhaps?" Ziva speculated.

Abby poked Tony in the forehead. He didn't even twitch. "He's really out of it, isn't he?"

"Who's out of what, Abby?" A familiar gruff voice asked from behind them.

"Gibbs!" Abby exclaimed as they all jumped and turned around to face their fearless leader, subsequently blocking the sleeping Italian form his view. Abby stammered, "Well, you see, McGee is out of, um, he's out of-"

-"out of ideas for my next book." McGee finished.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, "What are you all doing around Dinozzo's desk then?"

"Uh-"

"Well boss-"

"You see-"

Gibbs sighed, "Grab your gear; we've got a dead Petty Officer. And somebody wake Dinozzo up."

"Where to, Jethro?" Ducky asked.

"439 43rd ave." Ducky nodded and left.

Abby pounced on Tony and shook him.

Tony woke with a start and looked around, "We got a case boss?"

"Ya think, Dinozzo?" the rest of the team began to leave while Tony was still looking around dazedly. "Come on!"

Tony jumped to his feet and hurried to follow.

* * *

The crime scene was a mess. It was a double homicide right in the middle of a park. A couple had been out enjoying one of the last warm evenings of September when they were assaulted. The girl, a 5"9 brunette, was shot once in the head. The male was 6"1 and blonde. He had been severely beaten and stabbed.

"Cause of death, Duck?" Gibbs asked looking at the John Doe.

"Well Jethro, it's a bit early to say," The ME replied, "Although my guess would be the stab wound to his stomach. Poor fellow probably bled to death."

Gibbs nodded and turned to Tony, "Dinozzo, what's it look like?"

"Well, there's no sign of sexual assault, and the girl doesn't have any defensive wounds on her. From that I'd say the killer surprised them. Most likely male, too. He'd have to be pretty strong to overpower the Petty Officer." Gibbs, nodded, so Dinozzo continued, "We haven't found any I.D for the girl, but the Petty Officers name was Bradley Trumpman." He held up Trumpman's ID tags.

"Alright. We'll finish up here. When we get back, I want everything there is to know about Petty Office Trumpman.

A chorus of 'yes boss' filled the clearing.

* * *

"Are you alright, Tony? You seem over the weather."

"It's under the weather, Ziva."

"Tony…"

"Sigh. I'm fine, Ziva. I just had a late night."

"We don't need the details." McGee grimaced.

"Just 'cause you can't get a date…." Tony muttered, loud enough for the others to hear.

"I can get dates!" McGee protested.

"Can you get information on the victim?" Gibbs, perfect timing as always, asked.

"Checking his phone records now, boss." McGee replied. Gibbs nodded, and then looked expectantly at Tony and Ziva.

Tony looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He glanced over at Ziva, "Uh, I was- we were- uhmm"

Gibbs sighed, "Go see if you can find anything at his house."

"Right boss!" They replied in unison.

* * *

They were both silent on the car ride over. Ziva kept glancing over at Tony, but he never gave any indication that he noticed.

It took forever to reach the apartment. By the time they got there, the atmosphere was so tense that Ziva couldn't help but ask, "Are you sure you're alright Tony?"

"I'm fine, Ziva. Now pick the lock so we can scope out the place."

Ziva said nothing about Tony's blatant lack of respect, despite the fact that she was severely tempted. Something was not right with him, and she was determined to find out what.

The pair entered the apartment and began looking around. It was sparsely furnished, with a threadbare couch and an out of date TV in one room, a beat up fridge and a filthy sink in another, and a partially broken bed in the last.

"He obviously didn't manage his money well." Ziva observed. Tony simply grumbled in agreement.

They made quick work of the apartment, searching for any glaring signs of something being off. The only thing that seemed to stand out was the large number of lottery tickets.

The pair made their way back to the navy yard in a similar silence to the one that they left in. Ziva was grateful when they reached the bullpen so she could focus her attention on something other than Tony and his unusual broodiness.

"Gibbs, the-" She began.

"Abby's got something for us." He cut the Israeli off as he hung up the phone. The team piled into the elevator and headed down to the lab. "Anything at the apartment?"

"Not really, just signs that he couldn't manage his money." Ziva replied when Tony remained silent.

The doors dinged and they walked into Abby's lab, the familiar sounds of death metal oddly comforting.

"Gibbs!" the goth exclaimed in her usual excited manner.

"What do you got, Abs?"

"Well, I looked through all the evidence from the scene. The fingerprints all belong to Petty Officer Trumpman and his girlfriend, who I identified as one Jillian Webber, thanks to AFIS; she had been arrested two years back for trashing an ex-boyfriend's apartment. All the blood matched the two victims, as well."

"So you're saying you have nothing?" Gibbs, ever impatient, asked.

"I didn't say that. I thought that the nature of the murders was a bit hinky, so I did some digging, first looking at any navy cases that were similar. I got nothing."

Gibbs looked at her sceptically.

Abby shot him a look before turning to type something on her computer, "So, I searched civilian cases and came up with this," four faces popped up on screen, as well as crime scene photo's depicting the four. There were two males, two females. The women were shot, the men beaten and stabbed. It was the same MO as their killer. "The first two were found three weeks ago, the second two ten days ago. They didn't have any ID on them when they were found. My guess is that the killer knew to take wallets, but didn't realize that Trumpman was Navy and would be wearing his tags. We got lucky on this one, Gibbs."

"That's good work Abs. run facial recognition on the other four."

"It's already running." The raven announced proudly. Gibbs smiled his crooked smile and kissed her on the forehead. He strode out her lab, the rest of the team in tow.

* * *

Gibbs sat at his desk, thinking. They didn't really have any leads in the case, and his gut told him that they had to act fast. The killer was going to strike again soon. The time between kills was dropping by half, and if the killer stuck to that pattern, Ducky would have two more bodies in just five days. Gibbs picked up his phone. He had a call to make.

* * *

Brownie: so that's chapter two. We'll get to see the two teams together in Ch.3. sorry about the slow update, school and work and soccer really have me bogged down. Hopefully the next chapter will be up quicker.

See ya next time! ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys, what's up? I was on a two week vacation with practically no electronics, so I wrote this! Aren't you all happy it didn't take three months again? Sorry it's a bit short, but hey, what can I say? I wrote what fit. So this is mostly Hotch POV, with a bit of Gibbs thrown in there. Enjoy! **

* * *

* * *

I walked into the office with a tired sigh and sat down at my desk. Morgan was still in the hospital, still in a coma. It had put a damper on all our moods. I could see it in my team. Garcia no longer smiled, at all, and she was far too professional for Garcia. J.J only ever discussed cases with the rest of us, and spent the rest of the time in her office. Prentiss would snap at random moments and later apologise. Rossi was … different. I'm not sure exactly how, just different.

Reid was the worst. He buried himself in work and only spoke when necessary. He no longer cited off random facts statistics, no longer became excited when we caught a break in a case. He was emotionless, lifeless … a shell.

The team was on the verge of breaking. We have had one bad case after another. First everything with Foyet and changing team leaders, and now this with Morgan. Hopefully if- **when** he wakes up, we won't be too far beyond repair.

Strauss has been on my case about finding a temporary replacement, but I don't have the heart to. That more than anything would be the teams' breaking point.

* * *

Two and a half weeks. I can't put it off much longer. Strauss is demanding that I find a replacement, but I can't. She just doesn't see it. She doesn't see that it's the one thing that will make this truly real for all of us.

My phone rings and I answer wearily, "Hotchner."

"From the BAU?" The voice on the other end clarifies.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. I have a case that I think might require the attention of your team. How soon can you get to Washington D.C?"

I sighted, "It doesn't work like that Special Agent Gibbs; we have to review the case file and determine if there is an imminent threat to the people in the area. Is it a kidnapping?"

"No, a murder."

"Send us over a case file and I'll see what we can do."

"That could take weeks!" I could hear the rage and frustration in his voice. But what was I going to do, break protocol? I'm already on thin ice with Strauss as it is.

"That's procedure. If you don't like it, take it up with your director." I hung up and sighed. I may have been a little impolite, but I really couldn't deal with pushy, over-confident junior agents right now.

* * *

I stormed up to Vance's office. How dare that bastard hang up on me? There would be hell to pay; I'll make sure of that.

I walked past the secretary without a glance, ignored her protest, marched into the director's office and froze. Vance wasn't alone. Dinozzo was sitting in the chair across from the directors, and for a moment my mind flashed back to when Jenny sat at that desk.

"Agent Gibbs, have a seat. Agent Dinozzo and I were finished anyway." He shot my subordinate a look that I couldn't read and Tony got up and left. I refused the seat that Vance offered and glared at him. He simply sat back in his chair and asked, "Which agency is it this time?" Damn. Does he know me that well?

"The FBI. Specifically, the BAU. They refused to assist us in one of our cases." I would have pouted, had I not had a reputation to maintain.

"Did you send them the file?"

"Not at first. I called and talked to an agent," bastard, I thought to myself, "who told me to send a file over. Then I sent the file."

"When was this?"

I looked at my watch, "10 minutes ago."

Vance sighed, "Give it time, Gibbs. They'll look over the file and come running, no doubt. It's not everyday you ask for help on a case, especially form the FBI. This one must be bad."

"It is.'' I replied, thinking or the multiple victims and lack of evidence. "Can't you talk to their Section Chief?"

"Strauss and I aren't exactly on the best of terms. I have a feeling that my involvement would actually hurt your chances." I nodded. "Anything else?" I shook my head and left. Damn politics.

* * *

J.J poked her head into my office, "Conference room, 5 minutes." And left, presumably to tell the others.

We sat around our table, one short, as J.J went through slides on the screen. "DCPD just sent us this. They've had six victims in the past three weeks, the time between the murders going down by half each time. It's the same MO for all of them."

"He attacks couples." Rossi observed.

J.J nodded, "All of the murders have been at night, in empty yet open areas. Easy access and no witnesses."

I nodded, "Wheels up in 10."

* * *

We reviewed the case more on the plane. There were 5 unidentified civilian victims and one Seaman Petty Officer. His name was Bradley Trumpman.

J.J got a call just before we landed. She clicked her phone shut a looked at us, "DCPD just found another two victims in Rock Creek Park that match our unsub's MO.

Well shit.

* * *

The crime scene was … unique. It was in a small corner of Rock Creek Park, in a small grove of trees. The John Doe was leaning up against a tree, face black and blue with multiple stab wounds in his chest. The Jane Doe lay a few yards away, eyes wide and glassy, a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead.

"I told you to inform me as soon as you any more evidence in the case. I'm pretty sure this constitutes as evidence!" Someone yelled. I knew that voice…

"This isn't an NCIS case."

"Like hell it isn't! A Petty Officer was murdered by the same killer that made this crime scene, so don't you tell me it's not my case!"

"Agent Gibbs, we don't know for sure yet if it was in fact the same killer." I cut in, hoping to end the argument, but knowing that it was probably futile. I'll admit I was surprised by Agent Gibbs. He was older than I was expecting, for one thing. But he also hadn't struck me as the type to worry about the victims, just the case and the job. It was good to know that he realized the severity of the situation.

Gibbs spun around with a look of surprise on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"DCPD presented a formal request for BAU assistance in a case they're working on. Evidently it was the case you had mentioned on the phone."

"Oh, so you'll come running when local LEO's beckon, but not when a fully certified government agency asks for assistance?" This definitely wasn't going as planned.

"This has nothing to do with inter-agency turf wars. DCPD followed protocol. It irrelevant regardless, seeing as we're both here now." He continued to glare at me. Damn it, was he always this difficult? "Look, can we just focus on solving the case?"

"Humph. Fine. What have you figured out so far?" I felt a fresh surge of irritation at the impatient arrogance in his voice. He clearly didn't believe me, and held little respect for the FBI. Arg. I **really** hate dealing with people like him.

"Well, seeing as my team just got here, we haven't had a chance to go through the crime scene. It would go faster if all the team could be working on the case." OK, so maybe I was being rude, and perhaps a bit childish, but Gibbs got on my nerves. I know I preach about cooperating with local authorities, but it **was** DCPD who invited us, so……

He glared at me one last time before leaving to talk to his team. I pity those people, I really do. I sighed and walked over to my own team to see what sort of preliminary profile they had established from the scene.

* * *

* * *

End Chapter 3

_**IMPORTANT!!!**_** So like I said at the top, I was away for two weeks. When I got back, I checked my email and I was shocked by the number of story alerts I got. You guys are amazing! But I did notice that only three people have reviewed. Now, I don't want to be one of those naggy authors who always say "reviewreviewreview!" but it does help me write better stories if I get you're feedback on it. I've mentioned before that not all of the parings are fixed, so if you want a specific one, ask. I might not do it, but I'll try to take what you guys say into consideration, OK? Good. Now, my rant is done, I love you all, and see ya next time! ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**So sorry it took so long this time, everyone. I tried to make it longer to make up for it. So, here's chapter 4, with angst! . . . yeah, that's not really that exciting. . . any who, enjoy!**

"He actually said that? To Gibbs?" Abby's eyes bugged out at me in shock. After the 'incident' with the FBI agent, Gibbs had told McGee and me to go to the victims' shared apartment with the local LEO's and a couple of FBI agents. Gibbs himself had stayed at the crime scene, watching the rest of the FBI agents and making sure NCIS got a copy of the report.

The agents we worked with seemed nice enough. Agents Prentiss and Rossi. They were brisk and to the point, but something had seemed…cold about them. Detached. There had been one instance where Agent Prentiss eyes had gotten a far away look and she had a troubled expression on her face. But they worked well, so I had no real complaints.

"Yep." I answered Abby's question, "Anyway, we got an address from one of the bodies. One of them had a bill from the landlord in their pocket. Could you run the prints to see if any of them don't match the victims'? I know it's a slim chance, but it's worth a shot."

"You bet! If there's anything hinky, I'll find it." Abby promised, "Now, what's bugging you?"

"What?" I ask, feinting shock. I know Ziva had picked up something, but Abby too? Jeeze, my acting skill must be slipping.

"Don't what me, mister, something's up. What is it?" she stared at me with those deviously intelligent eyes, hands on her hips. Damn.

"I just haven't been sleeping well lately, it's nothing to worry about Abby." There, a half-truth. She can't say I lied to her, at least.

She glared at me for what felt like an hour, but was really only 30 seconds before saying, "Well, ok. But you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

I nodded, smiled, hugged her and left. As I got into the elevator, one thought persisted in my mind. I would talk, if only I knew what to say.

* * *

"Have you run into any problems with your assignment?" Vance asked. Tony was, once again, sitting across form him in his office, due to the fact that Gibbs had interrupted them earlier.

"No sir. Everything's running smoothly." Vance nodded.

"And Gibbs doesn't know?" Tony nodded, then hesitated.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Do you… do you think that this is a good idea? Keeping it from Gibbs, I mean."

"His involvement right now might jeopardize the mission. The fewer who know about this, the better." Vance looked at Tony sternly, to make sure he understood.

"Yes sir." Tony nodded, got up, and left.

* * *

I sat in the driver's seat. The engine was turned off. I stared out into the street, thinking. I hated lying to Gibbs. I **hated** it. The last time hadn't exactly ended well, either. And now, Vance was acting exactly like Jenny. Well, not exactly. This was no arms dealer, there was no Jeanne; just a potentially hostile sleeper cell operating right here in DC. No biggie. Right.

Who cares that the director has practically turned me into a CIA agent, or that he still expects me to do my regular job as if nothing is different? Why should it matter that I'm living off two hours of sleep a night and a shit load of coffee? Sigh. I'm angsting. I seem to be doing that a lot lately.

I turn on the engine and begin my nightly sweep of the area.

* * *

I couldn't sleep. It was two in the morning, we were in the middle of a case, and I can't sleep. Damn it.

I rolled out of bed and got dressed. I had to get out of the hotel for awhile, clear my head. Get some fresh air, something, anything, to take my mind off _him. _I walked out of the lobby and into the night. It wasn't actually that dark out, not with all the street lamps and lights form various hotels in the area.

I walked and kept walking, yet I couldn't get it, get _him,_ out of my head. Three weeks. Three agonizing weeks of sleepless nights, little food and hopeless worrying. It was driving me crazy. I couldn't think, couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, not while I wonder if I'll ever get to hear his voice again.

I roamed the streets of downtown Washington, oblivious to my surroundings. What did it matter where I was, anyway? Nothing mattered anymore.

I wandered around with my head down and my feet dragging. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm wondering why no one has tried to mug me or something. Maybe the gun on my hip was enough of a deterrent.

I finally sat down at a bus stop and looked around at where the hell I was. My eyes widened. This was the hospital that…oh gods. Fate must really hate me right now if it dumped me here. I … I can't … I have to get away from this place. Now. This place, more than anything else caused me to remember what I was so desperately trying to forget out here. And of course, wanting to forget made me think of the two unused bottles sitting in my medicine cabinet at home, two bottles that I haven't had a reason to think about in years.

I hailed the first cab that approached and got in, giving the cabbie the hotel address. I had to get out of there.

The driver's voice brought me out of my head, "Hey, I remember you."

I look up and notice the name on the back of the seat in front of me. "Tony." I reply ruefully. Honestly, of all the cabs I could have gotten….

"So," he hesitated, as if unsure of what to say.

"Yes?" I asked, because I knew that with Tony a conversation was inevitable. Who knows, maybe talking to Tony will help me clear my head. It worked last time.

"How's your friend?"

I sighed. I knew this would be difficult, but still……if it helped… "Bad. He slipped into a coma during surgery. It's been three weeks."

"I'm sorry." He sounded truly sincere. "My boss, once, was injured on the job, really badly. He was in a coma for a few days. When he woke up, he didn't remember anything, or anyone. Not me, not the rest of our team. It was hard. But, he got his memory back, and everything's ok again now. I'm sure that it'll be the same for you. Thing's may seem really shitty right now, but they get better. They have to." He said the last line under his breath, as if it was more to himself than to me. Yet I couldn't help but feel a small spark of hope at his words. Although…one part of his story seemed off…

"I didn't know cab drivers worked in teams." It would be just my luck to stumble across an operative in an Al-Qaeda sleeper cell or something.

He bit his lip nervously, "Er, well, we really don't. Not usually. But our company's small, and we're a closer group than most, so our boss calls us a team."

I nodded. I know he's lying; I was trained to recognize that sort of thing after all, but I decided to not press the issue. It wasn't my place to ask about his business.

"So, you in town waiting for him to wake up?"

"No, actually. After he reached stable condition, the doctors transferred him to a hospital in Quantico. That's actually where we're from."

"How come you're here, then?" Tony certainly didn't have any inhibitions about other people business. I probably should have remembered that…

"Working on a case." It slipped out before I realized what I was saying.

"What, you a cop or something?" Tony joked. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

"FBI, actually. I work with a team of profilers in the BAU. That stands for Behavioral Analy-"

"Behavioral Analysis Unit." Tony finished for me. Something flickered in the back of my mind.

"Yeah. How did you know?" Not many people have heard of the BAU, and even fewer knew what the acronym meant. Maybe he was Al-Qaeda after all….

"I- uh…" Tony sighed, as if resigning himself to something. Maybe I wasn't the only one who needed someone to talk to. I **hope** that's all it is… and that he's not going to try and kill me or something. I really don't want to have to shoot someone right now… "I work for NCIS."

Well, at least he's not a terrorist. "But then why are you driving a cab? Isn't that sort of undercover thing usually done by the CIA or Internal Affairs or- oh, there's a navy guy you're tracking that's high up so you can't arrest him without solid evidence." I nodded to myself. That made sense.

He chuckled a bit then sighed. "Nope. Well, not really. We arrested a Lieutenant who worked in supply a couple years back. He was passing off weapons and supplies to a sleeper cell here in DC. All we could get out of him was that the cell was in this general area. What's worse, Intel suggests that the cell still might be getting equipment from somewhere again. So, the director has me drive around here picking up all radio frequencies to see if we can hear anything. And to top it all off, I can't tell my boss 'cause he's doesn't know about the cell or the arrest or anything."

How…? "Isn't the director your boss?"

"Technically. But see, usually I work in Major Crimes, and my team leader is… possessive. Sort of. He doesn't really like it when the director uses his agent without asking."

"Ouch. That's rough." I thought about what Hotch would say if I did work for Strauss and didn't tell him… I shuddered.

Tony chuckled. "It's not so bad. Gibbs understood the last time I did something like this. He was a bit mad, sure, but he understood."

I nodded, then thought about what he said. "The last time?"

"It…didn't end well." Was all he said. I left it at that.

Tony pulled up in front of the hotel. I reached for my wallet but Tony said "No charge for a colleague."

I sat there confused for a moment before it clicked. He said he worked on Gibbs' team. That meant- "Oh."

He smiled and chuckled as I got out. Then his smiled turned into more of a grin as he said, "See you in a couple of hours."

Despite everything, I found myself grinning too, "Yup."

He drove off, and I walked into the hotel, thinking that maybe I might get a couple hours of sleep tonight after all.

* * *

What the hell was I thinking? I completely refuse to tell my team why I've been weird lately, and yet I'll tell a totally random FBI agent? What the fuck is wrong with me? Gibbs wouldn't have been so careless. Gibbs wouldn't have taken the job in the first place: he would have told the director to shove the whole damn thing up his ass. But, then again, as the team is so eager to point out, I'm not Gibbs. I'm just the moronic, idiotic second in command. Sigh. I know what I was thinking. I was hoping, praying, for some kind of recognition for a job well done. Recognition I would never get from Gibbs, but that I just might get from the director.

Everything changed after Gibbs 'retired.' The team changed. I tried to keep the team together, I really did. It's difficult when McGee and Ziva hardly ever listened to a word I said, questioning every order I gave and second guessing me like the never did with Gibbs. And Abby, practically wallpapering her lab with any picture of him that she could find. I knew they missed him. I did too. I missed him sometimes so much that it hurt.

When he came back, I was as happy as they were. We had our boss back, and the team could be a team again. But not even a word of thanks for holding down the fort while he was gone? That hurt.

But everything went back to normal, and everyone else was so happy. Truthfully, I was to. It was hard leading a team that didn't respect you. Ever harder when I missed our boss just as much as they did. And then, just when things were getting back to normal, the undercover mission blew up, quite literally. Gibbs was back to mistrusting me, McGee and Ziva were saying that the only way I could get a girl to like me was by pretending to be someone else, and, to top it all off, the director was royally pissed that the op had fallen through without us catching La Frog.

We got over that, though . . . just in time for everything to go to hell in L.A. Ziva had told me that we should have tailed the director, but I, of course, didn't want to listen. Didn't she ever stop to consider the fact that if Jenny wanted to lose us, she definitely would have, and that Ducky might've had three bodies instead of one had we followed her? She never saw it that way. None of the team did. The new director certainly hadn't. Why else would he make me Agent Afloat, if not to 'teach me a lesson?' 6 months of torture as the only cop on a city if a thousand. All that time on those damned ships and Abby was the only one who tried to contact me, until work was involved.

Gibbs had brought us all back, but we weren't a family anymore. Ziva's heart was still in Israel. McGee, for all his enthusiasm, lacked true investigative skills from too much time in Cyber Crimes. Gibbs was hard on all of us, expecting the team that he had before everything went to shit.

I knew he was pissed about everything, all that had happened in what felt like such a short time, but for him and Vance to leave me for the Israelis, and then leaving Ziva there? Just when had he stopped caring about his team? Why was it that I had to be the one to demand that we bring her back? Was he just pretending for her sake, to give her time to sort things out, or did he really not give a damn?

Five months we've all been back, and it still doesn't feel right. Something's missing. We don't trust each other anymore. Not truly. We trust the team with cases and work and watching our backs, but not with who we are. Not with ourselves. We're a team, but we're not a family anymore.

* * *

"Gibbs!" Abby called out as I walked into the lab.

"Sorry Abs, just me." I grinned at her.

She smiled back and poked me in the chest, "No just about it, mister. Where's Gibbs?"

"Upstairs talking with the FBI, why?" I ignored her comment. Abby was always being nice to me. I know that she's right, about a lot of things, but if I was so special, why was she the only one to notice?

Abby bounced over to her computer monitor, "Because Tony, I found something. When I ran the prints from the latest victims, I got a hit. The Jane Doe on Ducky's table is one Talia Harper. She was arrested a couple of years back for illegal gambling. Naughty girl."

"Thanks Abs!" I turned to leave.

"Wait! There's more!" Abby turned back to her monitor, "I also checked those poker chips you and Ziva brought in earlier, because they looked too authentic to be part of your garden variety run of the mill $2 set courtesy of your local drug store. It turns out, they're the official chips from The Midas Casino."

"Good work, Abby." I gave her a hug and walked out the door to the elevator. I finally had something good to tell Gibbs.

**So, you've read, please review? Please? I need feedback guys, especially on pairings, or I'll write something really cracktastic, like Gibbs/Abby!!!! **


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Hey, here's chapter 5, sorry for the delay, school's kept me crazy stressed. Add writers block to that and well, yeah. So sorry if this is shorter than you'd like, but hey, at least it's up here, right? . . . Right?**

I really hate the FBI. Do they honestly have to act all high and mighty all the time? 'Cause really, it gets annoying after the first five minutes. Most of these agents are better than a lot of the others that we've had to work with but their boss was just a bastard. Who pays that much attention to procedure and protocol, especially when lives are in danger?!

Someone with a major stick up their ass, that's who.

"Boss!" Tony's exclamation jolted me out my musings.

I looked up and snapped, "What, DiNozzo?" Damn Tony, always interrupting my thoughts.

"Abby got an ID on one of the newest victims. Talia Harper, arrested two years ago for illegal gambling." He grinned, as if finding this information was the most spectacular thing in the world.

I raised an eyebrow, "And?"

"Uh, a-and . . ." He stuttered. Am I that intimidating?

"Find me some information on her!" Really, was it that complicated?

"On it, boss!"

I sat back in my chair and sighed. At least we had the start of **something** now.

* * *

Does NCIS **have **to take personal offense to **everything** we do? It's not my fault that Strauss is a total rampaging bitch. Does he not understand the concept of follow the rules or being fired? Or does he just not give a damn? Humph. Bastard.

"What do we know about the victims?" I asked. It would really help if NCIS would share information, but they just had to bitchy about the whole thing…

The door to the conference room opened, and an agent poked his head in. "Hi! I thought I'd tell you that the newest female victim's name is Talia Harper, 'cause Gibbs probably wouldn't." he grinned and said, "If you need anything else, come ask. I'll be in the bullpen, Abby's lab or autopsy if I'm in the building. Name's Tony DiNozzo." He waved and left. Well. Now we have two names at least.

"Garcia, you hear that?" Prentiss asked. Speaker phone came in handy sometimes.

"Yup, cross checking her name with Petty Officer Bradley Trumpman. I'll get back to you if anything come's up."

"Coordinate with the NCIS tech. That might speed things along." I hoped their lab personnel were more like Agent DiNozzo than Agent Gibbs.

"When we know, you'll know." We ended the call and looked at the images of the crime scenes.

"He likes couples." Rossi observed.

"And secluded public places." Prentiss added. Isn't that an oxymoron?

"We know from the autopsy reports that he hunts at night, most likely to avoid detection." Reid noted.

"It could also mean that he's not confident enough to approach his victims during the day." I pointed out.

"Or that he lacks the strength or charm to subdue two victims without the element of surprise." J.J supplied.

"So we're looking for a smaller male with confidence issues." Reid has really perfected his monotone. It's more than a little unnerving. I mean, really, we all miss Morgan, but he seems to be taking it particularly hard. . .

"Judging by the way he uses the knife, and the fact there seems to be no sexual assault, I'd say he's either in denial and hates who he is, or he's simply a sadistic serial killer who prefers male victims." Prentiss surmised, forcing me to focus on the case. Something was up with Reid though, and I'm determined to find out what.

* * *

"This is bad, McGee! Really bad! Somehow, this guy is managing to leave his scenes without any useable evidence! He stabs his victims, repeatedly, and the only DNA at the scenes is the victims. There aren't any fingerprints, no footprints, not even a single strand of hair! It's maddening, Timmy! And we have to work with FBI agents who don't even really follow normal investigative procedures! And, to top it all off, Tony's not acting like Tony!" I took a breath, "Something's wrong, Tim, I can feel it. Tony's never like this."

"Abby, Tony's fine. He probably just had a late night, a really late night . . . for several weeks." I could hear the slight bitterness is his voice, but Tony was more important right now. I could worry about finding Timmy a new girlfriend later.

"That's not it, Tim. You know how Tony likes to brag when he has a date, and he hasn't said a thing in weeks! He hasn't been like that since -" I stopped dead. It couldn't . . . no Tony would never . . . he wouldn't . . . not again . . . "I have to talk to Gibbs!"

Tim looked at me funny. "About the case?"

"About Tony, McGee, haven't you been listening?" Honestly, how hard is it to follow a conversation?

McGee sighed, "Abby, Tony's fine, alright. Do you have anything that might help us with the case?"

Grrrr. Damn McGee and his lack of caring. Fine, if he won't help me help Tony, then I'll do it myself. Or maybe I'll enlist Ziva . . . "There might be something, but I'm not sure. I was looking through the victims' records with the FBI's tech, and I think we might've found a common factor. Miss Harper went to the same casino that the chips Tony and Ziva found in Trumpman's apartment came from. They were both at The Midas." McGee gave me a hug and left, saying "Thanks" over his shoulder as he did so. Now to worry about Tony.

* * *

"So, what do you think?" he asked.

"I don't know. We don't have an accurate profile yet. The location and the timing and the fact that there aren't any witnesses' suggest an organized killer, but the rage displayed during the stabbing shows a disorganized killer." I looked at Tony, "It doesn't make sense."

"Could it be that there are two of them?"

I shook my head, "It's unlikely. With two unsub's, especially if one of them is disorganized, the chance that physical evidence would be left behind is 78% higher, and since the scenes were so pristine. . ." I shrugged.

"So, one killer, organized, with rage issues . . ." he mused out loud. He smirked and looked across the bullpen, "That almost sounds like Ziva."

"You think I have rage issues?" She quirked an eyebrow. She reminds me of Prentiss . . .

"Well, if the shoe fits . . ."

"But I'm wearing boots . . ." she looked puzzled.

Tony sighed, "It's an expression, Ziva."

Agent McGee chose that moment to walk into the bullpen, "Abby and the FBI tech, Penelope, may have found a connection between Talia Harper and Petty Officer Trumpman. They both were at The Midas Casino. Where's Gibbs?" well at least that's something. Wait, Penelope? That's . . . interesting.

"Up in Vance's office. McGee, go through their phone records, see if they've been in contact with each other. Ziva, tell Gibbs and the FBI what Abby found. Agent Reid and I will go check out the casino."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Tony?" Ziva asked as we both got up to leave.

Tony grinned, "Relax, Zeevah, we're just going to talk to the staff. What could go wrong?"

* * *

"So." I said, trying to break the awkward silence that had fallen over the car. We were sort of friends, weren't we? How far did that friendship go, though? What was a safe topic of conversation?

"So." He replied, not really giving me anything to work with.

Aw to hell with it. "You and Agent David seem close."

He tensed, and I knew immediately that I had said something wrong. Shit.

"We're partners;" he answered carefully, "We need to be close in order to do our job properly."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry." Arrg. Now he's going to be mad that I brought it up . . .

He sighed. "No, it's fine." Tony laughed dryly. "God knows that I've pried enough into your life for turnabout to be fair game. To be honest, Ziva and I are close, just . . . not like that. She's like a sister to me."

"Does she know that?" I asked before I could stop myself. Damn it, I really have got to stop blurting out the first thing that pops into my head . . . I bit my lip nervously.

Tony saw the action and laughed. "Yeah, she knows. She's already has herself a man, anyway." He must have caught my questioning look, because he continued, "A bartender named Teegan McKay. Nice guy, form what I could tell." He nodded, as if affirming that statement. "And besides I -" he cut himself off.

I knew it was pushing it, but I felt compelled to ask, "But you?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I . . . nothing. Look, we're here." He pulled into a paring space outside the casino. I knew the conversation was over, but that didn't help my curiosity any. What had he meant?

We walked into casino and made our way over to the front desk. After flashing our badges, I casually asked, "Is your manager about?" The clerk nodded apprehensively and ran off to find the boss, nervously muttering under his breath.

Tony grinned deviously. "He was certainly unhappy to see us."

"Most people who work in the gambling industry don't like to see government officials." I pointed out.

"True." He conceded. I liked talking to Tony. It was easy, comfortable. Almost like having an older brother.

The clerk returned, an older woman following him. For all that looked to be in her late 50's, she was striking. Her blond hair, most likely dyed, was pulled back into a bun, but a few strands fell out to frame her face. She had icy blue eyes that held a fair amount of intelligence in them. She was dressed in a deep red skirt suit, complete with three inch high black stilettos. There was an air of superiority that surrounded her, heightened by the arrogance clearly displayed on her elegant features. The kind of arrogance that showed on those who came from money, and were used to getting exactly what they wanted the first time they asked for it.

Tony, clearly not intimidated in the least, grinned charmingly, "Hi. Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, NCIS. This is Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI. We were wondering if you could answer a few questions, ma'am." He certainly knew how to get people to open up. He put just the right amount of charm into the introduction to make it seem like he might be there for more than simply his job.

"Gabriella Leduc." She introduced, "What kind of questions?" She rose an eyebrow in what she probably thought was a seductive manner.

Tony held up the pictures of Talia Harper and Petty Officer Trumpman, "Have you or any of the staff see either of these two here before?"

She looked at the pictures closely before replying, "I may have seen him before, but if I did, he wasn't wearing a military uniform. If he's the guy I'm thinking of, he comes in often for a few months or weeks at a time regularly, then not at all for, oh, I'd say anywhere from six months to a year." She looked at Talia's picture closer, "Her I don't recognize. It could be that she hasn't come often enough for me to really distinguish." She shook her head. "Sorry I couldn't have been more help." She smiled at Tony, "But, ah, feel free to come back anytime you want, for anything." I swear she was practically purring by the end of it.

Tony smiled again, although this time I could tell it was forced, "I just might take you up on that offer." We turned and headed back to the car. After we were out of the building, Tony shuddered. I laughed. I haven't laughed in a long time. It felt good, if even for a moment, to be able to forget why I no longer slept at night.

"Don't tell me you didn't like her?" I asked, deciding to tease him just a little bit. He gave me a look that said 'are you fucked up?' and shuddered again. I chuckled.

"She is **definitely** not my type." We climbed into the car.

"Then what is you type?" I asked, curious. Hey, he brought it up. And I might be able to figure out what he had started to say earlier . . .

"I don't really have a type." . . . or not. Damn. Would it kill him to give a straight answer? . . . Oh. Oh!

"You're gay, aren't you?" He slammed down on the brakes. Thankfully, there was no one around us in the parking lot.

"What?!" he looked over at me in shock and disbelief, "Where the hell did that come from?"

I shrugged, "Am I right?"

He sighed, and started driving again. We left the parking lot and moved onto the highway. Just as I thought he wasn't going to answer, "I'm bi. But it's . . . not something I advertize at all. Working in a government agency, for an ex-marine . . . I figured it would be better, and easier, to play the playboy." He smiled at his own joke. "People pay less attention to you that way. If you, well, if you fit a stereotype." I nodded. I did it a little, myself. I played up the geek aspect to try and stop a lot of the genius questions. No one really thinks it's odd for someone who's dressed as a teacher's assistant to be a genius, but if I were to dress goth or something . . . well, nobody would take me seriously.

"So . . . do you have a boyfriend?" I asked. Was that what he was going to say earlier?

" . . . No." he sighed, resigned. There was something in his voice . . .

"But?" I prompted, because already I could tell that if Tony wasn't forced to talk about himself he wouldn't.

"But there's someone that I can't seem to get my mind off of. It doesn't matter, though. He's straight. Very straight."

I quirked an eyebrow, "You sure it's not a cover?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." The defeat in his voice was clear. He'd resigned himself to unrequited love a long time ago.

Nothing was said for the rest of the trip back to NCIS HQ. There was nothing else to say.

**Love it? Hate it? Reviews are more than welcome, just tell me what you think! **


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**Wow, I must be spoiling you guys! Two chapters in three days! But hey I hit a brainwave, and this is the result, so enjoy!**

* * *

Maybe something was wrong with Tony. I mean, Abby's not usually wrong about this sort of thing, and she seemed pretty convinced that something was definitely wrong. But Tony would say something, wouldn't he? . . . Of course he wouldn't, he's Tony. He could be dying of terminal cancer and he wouldn't tell us . . . oh, god, he's not dying is he? No, he would've told Abby. He tells her everything. Well, almost everything. Seeing as he won't tell her **what's wrong.** Should I ask him? No, he'd just brush me off. There's got to be some way to find out what's going on though.

"Is there something troubling you, McGee?" Ziva called across the otherwise empty bullpen.

"Is it that obvious?" damn, I have to work at hiding my emotions. Gibbs and Tony do it so effortlessly . . .

"You wear your emotions in your pocket, McGee."

"It's on your sleeve." I corrected absently. Maybe I could get Tony drunk . . .

"What is on my sleeve?"

"The expression, it's 'you wear your emotions on you sleeve.'"

She still looked confused, but she let it go, returning to her earlier question, "So, is there something troubling you?"

"Has Tony seemed . . . different, to you?" I asked cautiously. I'm still not sure if he and Ziva ever had a thing, but she dating that bartender now, and they seem pretty serious . . . although she was uncharacteristically concerned for Tony during the Jeanne thing. Hm.

Ziva jumped out of her chair and pointed at me dramatically. "You see it too!" she exclaimed. So she thinks something's up too, huh? What, was I the last to realize this or something? Or maybe it's just a woman thing . . .

"Yeah, I'm just not sure what I'm seeing. I mean, he's seems fine one minute and all closed off and stoic the next."

"He is hiding something." Ziva stated. Was that what it was?

"But what is he hiding, though? If it was a new girlfriend, he'd be telling us all about her."

"Something to do with his family, perhaps?"

"Maybe . . ."

We sat in silence, both thinking about Tony. Well, I think we were both thinking about him. It's hard to tell what Ziva's thinking. "Maybe we should talk to Abby. She seemed to know something."

Ziva nodded, "At the very least, she will give another opinion on the matter."

* * *

"What do ya got for me, Abbs?" I asked, well, demanded, as I walked into the lab. Abby, Ziva and McGee all turned from there conversation and stared at me. "What?" I asked.

"Gibbs!" Abby ran up and hugged me as if I could make all her problems go away. That worried me. Not that I'd show it, of course.

"Someone want to tell me why the three of you are just standing around here talking instead of working?"

Ziva and McGee looked sheepish, but Abby just glared at me. "Gibbs, how could we possibly work right now?"

"Abby, what are you talking about?" We're in the middle of an investigation, a **joint** investigation, with the **FBI**, about a **serial killer**, and she asking me how they can work?

"Tony, Gibbs!" She looked at me pointedly.

"What about Tony?" Sure, he looked a little tired, and stressed, but was that really worth stopping all work for?

"Something's wrong with Tony, Gibbs. I can feel it!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Really, Jethro," Ducky said from the doorway behind me. He closed the door, locked it and stepped farther into the room. That really got me worried. Ducky obviously didn't want anyone to overhear what we're saying. It must be bad. "Anthony does not look well, and as his physician, I am becoming concerned. He refuses to let me do an examination, and claims that his current condition is due to lack of sleep."

"So? That's probably what it is then." I felt a twinge of . . . something over the fact that Tony was losing sleep because of something, probably **someone, **but I dismissed it. Tony was my SIC, of course I'd be concerned that he wasn't at his best. Really, I didn't see why they were making a big fuss over this. "Tony found a new girlfriend, it's about time he did." Why did it hurt to say that? If Tony found someone who actually appreciated, or at least tolerated, his insanely annoying quirks, I should be happy for him, right?

But Abby was shaking her head. Why was Abby shaking her head? "Gibbs, Tony **always **talks about his dates. The only time he didn't was when he was working undercover for Director Shepard."

Undercover . . . tired . . . not talking much . . . Tony was in Vance's office the other day . . . "Shit." I stormed out of Abby's lab, calling over my shoulder that I was going to see the director. Of all the reckless, stupid, insubordinate things for that boy to do . . . you'd think he'd have learned his lesson the first time.

I slammed the door to Vance's office open, not bothering to knock. I've never done it before, so why should I start now? Especially when I have a perfectly legitimate reason to be pissed at the director. I had hoped to find DiNozzo there with him like I did the first time, but Vance was alone. Oh well. That could work too. "Why is Tony working an undercover op when we're in the middle of a high priority investigation?"

The Director looked momentarily surprised, "He told you?"

"No."

Vance sighed and leaned back in his chair, "Agent DiNozzo is assisting in the detection of an Al Qaeda sleeper cell. We were going to bring the rest of the team in when it came time to arrest them."

"Why Tony?"

"Because Agent DiNozzo was the lead agent on the original case, so he knows the case better than most. I believe it was when you were taking your vacation in Mexico." He glared at me, but I didn't twitch. If this tech nut thought he was going to intimidate me . . . "Agent DiNozzo is also one of the best undercover agents NCIS has. He was the logical choice for the mission."

"I almost lost him the last time a Director thought she could use him for her personal agenda!"

Vance stood, "Because he got too emotionally involved! This is nothing like that. And you would do well to have faith in your agents." He sat down, clearly indicating that he felt that this conversation was over. I turned to leave, but as I had my hand on the door, I turned.

"Tony's not the one I don't have faith in." I left without another word and didn't look back.

* * *

Why do I tell Spencer things that I wouldn't even dream of telling Abby? I mean, we're best friends, I tell her everything. She's the only person on the team that knows my escapades aren't exactly limited to pretty girls. But I made sure I never told her anything more than that. I can't. If I told her that I – well, I just can't tell her. Not without constantly worrying that she'd tell **him.** Then, I'd have to transfer out and I'd never get to see her or anyone on the team ever again. That would kill me. Even if we're not a family, even if we don't click like we used to, I still care about all of them, about what happens to them. I can't just leave that all behind. I can't risk losing them, not when we have a chance to fix what Vance broke. Not that I'm helping that any, taking on that damn undercover mission.

So **why** would I be so stupid as to almost tell someone I barely know one of my worst secrets? That's just begging for trouble. I mean, I trust him, I guess, especially 'cause I'm probably the only one who knows just how broken up he is about losing his teammate. Maybe that's why. He trusted me with that, so I feel like I can trust him with this. It feels weird, though, having someone like that. It's kinda nice, though. Comforting.

* * *

I stepped into the elevator with a sigh and hit the button for Abby's lab. Halfway down I hit the emergency stop and leaned against one of the wall and sighed again. Why does Tony do this to himself? What is he trying to prove? Can't he see how badly he's worrying this team? How much we all care for him?

I flicked the switch again with new determination. No one on the team is going to talk to him until he and I straighten things out.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to Abby's lab, with everyone right where I left them. Had it only been 15 minutes? It felt like hours.

"So? What did Vance say?" Abby bounded up to me, a tall, gothic armful of nervous energy.

I chose my words carefully, "The Director and I talked, and I don't want any of you to try and get anything out of DiNozzo before I've had a chance to talk to him, ok?" I gave them all one of my best glares to show that I was serious.

However, my little speech seemed to have the opposite effect. Abby gasped, her hands over her mouth, "It's bad, isn't it? Oh, I knew it, something bad is happening with Tony! How will -"

"Abbs!" I cut her off, because I knew that if I let her talk, she would just worry herself more. "Nothing's . . . I just need . . ." I sighed running a hand through my hair, "I just need to talk to Tony first, Abbs. I heard Vance's side of things, but I need to discuss it with Tony, I need to . . ."

"Get his perspective?" Ducky finished where I trailed off, and I nodded. I needed to know **why** Tony would do something like this, especially after the Frog op ended so badly. And I needed it from Tony, not the Director.

* * *

**So, the team finally figured it out. How will Gibbs go about asking Tony about the undercover op? Find out next time!**

**Oh, and the next chapter will definitely have more of our beloved BAU, I just needed to get this bit about the team and Tony in there. **

**So, see ya next time! **


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

**Ok, wow, I seriously have no acceptable excuse this time, except that the end of the school year was reeeaaally bad. And I know that this chapter is shorter than most, but hey, what can I say? Any who, enjoy, everybody.**

…**.. **

I woke up gradually, as if I was coming out of a fog. My whole body felt heavy. Maybe someone decided to switch my blood out for lead. I could hear machines beeping in the background. Where the hell was I? I tried to open my eyes to see what was going on, but as soon as did, I regretted it. The lights in the room nearly burned my retinas straight through the back of my head. I opened my eyes gradually this time and saw machines and white walls. A hospital? Why was I in a hospital? I sat up too look around better and fell back with a cry when a sharp pain ran through my chest. Maybe **that's** why I'm in a hospital. But what the hell happened?

A doctor ran into the room and started looking at the machines and then the chart at the foot of the bed. He seemed excited. Why was he excited? He looked up at me and asked, "Do you know where you are?"

I nodded. "A hospital." I said, but it came out more like a croak.

He gave me a drink of water and asked, "Do you remember why?" I racked my brains trying to dredge up the memory. There was a case . . . a building . . . gunfire?

"I was shot?" I was guessing, really. I don't remember any details. Is that normal? I can't remember, but I feel like I should know.

The doctor nodded, "That's right. Once in the shoulder just above the heart and once in the arm. We repaired the damage. You're almost healed." He smiled reassuringly.

That confused me more, I was just shot, but I'm almost healed? "How long was I out?"

"22 days. You had everyone here very worried. It's good to see you awake." I panicked. 22 days? Just what the hell happened?

….

"That was an Agent McGee. LEO's just found another two bodies in a local park." JJ announced.

"Damn. This guy still seems to be two steps ahead of us." Prentiss muttered.

Hotch nodded, "Prentiss, you and Rossi have already worked with the agents at a crime scene, go with them and see what you can find out." The pair nodded and left. "Let's go over the profile again to see if there's anything we missed."

….

"A coma? Really? Doc, you gotta be kidding me."

"I am not. You slipped under right after surgery." But that didn't make any sense…

"Did I get many visitors?"

"'Oh, yes. Your team all came as often as they could, and you mother and sisters called me several times to make sure that I would have you call them as soon as you woke up…" he waved a phone in the air. I sighed.

Guess I had a few calls to make.

….

"The crime scene looks nearly identical to the others." McGee remarked.

"Really? Then how do you explain the ID left lying out, probie?" Tony asked as he held up two wallets, complete with driver's licenses.

"Why would he leave them out now? He has been very careful about that, yes?"

"It could be that there is something about these two that is important to the unsub." Rossi pointed out.

"But what? So far we haven't found any connection besides the casino between our victims." Prentiss argued. "It's more likely that he's devolving and left them behind by mistake."

"Well that's true, but we've only ID'd two of the victims so far. Let's have Garcia run the names and see what she comes up with."

….

"Hey Doc?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"Is it possible to dream while you're in a coma?"

….

"So, when I got the names, the first thing I did was cross check them with our previous victims. And I got a hit." Petty Officer Trumpman appeared on the screen with the latest male victim. "Carl Rogers and the Petty Officer went to college together. So, I took it one step further, and added all the other male victims to the search. They **all **went to that college."

"Which college?" Agent Gibbs demanded.

"Mary Baldwin College." Abby replied.

Gibbs nodded and ended the video feed. "Tony, you and McGee go check it out. Take an FBI agent with you."

….

The doc had given me a lot to think about. But if what he said was true, I certainly had a huge decision to make. I mean, I could go back to the way things were, or I could … God, I don't even know. I could … say something, I guess? Yeah, that'd probably be the best way, just say something out right. How hard could it be?

….

"So, what can you tell me about these men, Professor Yarrow?" Probie asked.

"Hm, well, what are you looking for, exactly? I could tell you a lot about each of them, but nothing that I would think would be a cause for murder."

"We're looking for anything that might connect them in some way." Spencer clarified.

"I can't say anything comes to mind … wait."

"Yes?" I asked. Please tell me we finally have a solid lead.

"I think they might've all dated the same girl while they were here, but I can't be positive. You know how college kids are."

I nodded.

"And for the life of me, I can't remember the girl's name … Emilia, Emma … Emily! That was it, Emily."

Well, that's a start. "Ok. Can you remember her last name?"

"No, I'm sorry, I don't think I can."

McGee handed him his card, "If you remember anything else, call."

"Of course." Professor Yarrow nodded.

….

"Ok, so I cross-checked the name Emily with all the male victims and got one hit. Emily Leduc."

Reid looked puzzled. "Wasn't the casino manager named Leduc?"

"Yeah. Gabriella Leduc." Tony agreed.

Garcia added the name to the search. After a minute, she said, "Gabriella Leduc is Emily Leduc's mother."

Gibbs cut in, "Aren't we missing something, here? Serial killers are rarely female."

"While that's true," Hotch nodded, "In this case it would actually make a lot of sense. Garcia, what else can you find on Emily?"

"Hm, lets see, born in New York, but moved to D.C with her mom when her dad walked out on them when Emily was seven. Went to private school, got a degree in business, and helps her mom run the casino."

"Here's something!" Abby added, "She received an invitation to John Phillips, the first victims, wedding."

"That was probably the stressor." Rossi mused, "With her father leaving at such a young age, she most likely had abandonment issues, and her ex-boyfriend getting married would seem like the ultimate betrayal."

"Let's go pick her up." Gibbs decided.

….

The arrest was easy. Emily was at the casino when they showed up. She tried to bolt out the back door, but Agent David and Prentiss had the exit well covered. We brought her to NCIS HQ for interrogation. We also ended up arresting Gabriella Leduc, because she took a swing at Tony when he was taking Emily out to the cars. By the time we finished, it was a little past midnight. Hotch convinced Agent Gibbs to let both women sit in interrogation overnight and give the teams a rest. How, I'll never know. Agent Gibbs seems the type to work his team into exhaustion, and by the looks of disbelief on his teams face when he told them to go home, it was an accurate assessment.

I flopped onto the cheap hotel mattress with a tired sigh. I lay there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling. My phone rang and I picked it up, not bothering to look at the caller id. If this was someone calling us back to work …

"Hello."

"Hey."

"…" I couldn't think, let alone speak. This wasn't … he couldn't …

"… I love you, Spencer."

….

….

**Hehe, cliffhanger, I know, but I couldn't resist. I'll probably wrap this fic up in another chapter or at the most, two, but fear not, dear readers! There shall be a sequel ….sometime… and maybe a prequel… any who, reviews and feedback is always appreciated!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Last chapter peoples! So enjoy! **

…**…**

Gibbs halted his pacing and slammed the flat of his palm against the table, "Why did you kill John Phillips?"

"I didn't! How many times do I have to tell you this?" Emily glared at Gibbs through her tears.

Gibbs growled, clearly frustrated and stormed out of the room. He appeared moments later in observation and glared, "This isn't working."

"I agree." Agent Hotchner nodded.

"We could try questioning her mother. I mean, they lived in the same house, worked in the same casino, and the woman doesn't notice that her daughter is killing people?" I suggested.

Gibbs looked over at me, an unreadable expression on his face. About a minute of awkward silence passed before he nodded, "Do it, DiNozzo. I'm going for coffee." And promptly left the room without a backwards glance.

I rubbed my eyes tiredly. At eight in the morning, I was hardly awake, let alone functioning. It had been another uneventful night of surveillance and the mere mention of coffee was beautifully sweet and torturous at the same time. Sweet, because I could **really** use some right about now, and torturous because I know Gibbs would never think to bring back a cup. Not that the sludge he drinks would be any sane mans definition of good coffee, but at least it would wake me up.

"Is he always like that?" The question startled me out of my haze. Agent Hotchner looked at me expectantly.

"Yes." Why sugar coat it? Maybe once upon a time Gibbs had been a fair team leader and actually treated his agents with compassion, decency and understanding, but that time was long gone.

With a bitter sigh, I made my way to interrogation two.

..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..

I sat down in the hard plastic chair with a tired sigh. After the phone conversation last night, I told Hotch that Derek was awake and asked to be allowed to drive back to make sure he was ok. Thankfully, he said I could come. So it's just my luck that when I arrive, the moron is fast asleep. Thinking back to last night, it still feels so surreal.

"_I love you, Spencer." _

"_Wha … I ... um … just for clarifications sake, could you repeat that?"_

"_I love you."_

"_That's what I thought you said."_

"_You're not mad at me, are you?"_

"_Why would I be mad at you? It's perfectly natural for friends to love each other, some people would even go so far as to say that love is the basis of friendship, although personally I always though that trust was the prime component of a healthy-"_

"_Reid."_

"_Yeah?"_

"_I don't mean that I love you like a friend. I'm in love with you. I think I have been for a long time."_

"_. . . oh."_

"_So I'll ask again; are you mad at me?"_

"_Well that would be sort of hypocritical of me wouldn't it?"_

"_I … what?"_

"_I … I love you too, Derek."_

"_Seriously?"_

"_Can you see me joking about something like this?"_

"_I suppose not."_

" … _listen, we're on a case right now in D.C. but we're almost finished. I can ask Hotch if I can come back early and we'll talk more. You just woke up from a coma, so you're probably still out of sorts a little bit."_

"_Maybe a little bit. Is it weird to feel tired after sleeping for three weeks?"_

"_Not at all. I'll let you get some rest. See you soon."_

"_Bye, Spencer."_

"_Bye Derek."_

What happens now? I mean, love is one thing, but a relationship? Hotch would fire both of us just for thinking about it. And how would it affect the team? Or how we co-operate in the field? There are so many things that can go wrong. Are we willing to risk everything for the chance that it might work?

…-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-

"So tell me about your daughter, Mrs. Leduc." I sat down across from the woman cautiously.

"I can tell you she's not a killer, Agent DiNozzo." She glared at me, but I brushed it off. After Gibbs, not many people can intimidate me.

"Why do you believe that?"

"Why? Because she's my daughter, that's why!" She slammed her fist down on the table. "A mother knows these things, and I know Emily hasn't hurt anyone."

"She hasn't been acting unusual lately? No sudden moments of anger or rage?" I asked, recalling what the FBI agents had said about how the unsub was likely to react to people around her.

"No! She was slightly depressed when she received that thoughtless and heartless invitation from that bastard, Phillips." Mrs. Leduc's scowl became more pronounced.

"The wedding invite."

"As if it isn't enough for him to break my daughter's heart, he has to rub it in her face to?" Whoa. Okay, back up there. Is it just me, or is she too pissed off over her daughter's love life? Something's not right about this…

…_..._..._..._..._..._..._..._..._..._

"Uh oh."

"What uh oh?" McGee asked. I pointed to one of my monitors.

"You know those prints we lifted of the ID's at the last crime scene? They don't match Emily Leduc."

"Oh Gibbs is not going to like that." I nodded. "Did you run the victims prints, just in case?"

"Duh, McGee, those ran along with little Miss Leduc's. No match."

"Try Mrs. Leduc's."

I jumped and spun around. "Okay… but why? I mean, it's not like she was anywhere near the scene."

Agent Prentiss shrugged. "She acted suspicious when Agent DiNozzo questioned her. Running her prints would just double check everything."

"Alright, running them now." Tim added her prints to the search. "Why was Tony questioning Mrs. Leduc?"

"To see if we could any information about her daughter."

I nodded. That made sense, I supposed. Hopefully, once this is all over, Tony will tell us just what's going on.

My computer beeped, signalling a result. "Okay, so- oh. It's a match. Gabriella Leduc is a match for the prints at the scene."

./../…/…./…../…/…

"Why do you think he's rubbing it in her face? Maybe he truly cared for her, and wanted her to be there for him." There, that sounded reasonable, didn't it?

"Please, that boy was nothing but trouble. He treated Emily like she was his slave, not his girlfriend!"

"You really care about your daughter." I wasn't a question, really. More of an observation. Mrs. Leduc nodded. "John Phillips, he had a mother who cared about him just as much as you care about Emily. Do you think that it was fair that she lost someone that close to her?"

"I can empathize with her, but she wouldn't have lost her son if she hadn't raised him to treat others like dirt!" That certainly didn't sound empathetic.

"So you think Phillips deserved what happened to him?"

"That bastard deserved everything I did to him and more!"

I froze. Well that was unexpected. "You killed John Phillips?"

"I killed all of them. Do you know how hard it is to watch your child's heart get broken over and over again? I had to do something to make those man-whores regret ever messing with the Leduc family. And I did."

…..()…..().().()….()…

"Pretty boy? What are you doing here?" I looked up in surprise.

"Hey, you're awake. We were close to finishing the case so Hotch let me come back early." He smiled, but it was shaky, as if he wasn't sure he should be smiling.

"Just like that? He let you leave?"

"We've all been worried about you."

I nodded. Spencer had a look of concentration on his face, as he were trying to figure out how to say something. "Derek, I … I don't know how this is going to work out. I mean, the FBI is excruciatingly clear on workplace relationships, and Hotch is, well he's Hotch, and then the-"

"Spencer." If I didn't cut him off, he'd ramble for an hour before he tired himself out. "I'm not about to give you up over a few lousy rules. We'll figure it out, and we'll make it work. Simple as that."

He bit his lip. How could I not have noticed just how attractive he is until now? "Okay."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Okay." We would sort everything out. Together.

.\/./\.\/./\.\/./\.\/./\.\/.

The bullpen was dark, but that was ok. I always like it when it's dark. It's easier to think when there's nothing going on around you. Director Vance said that someone else would cover my assignment the next two nights, and that I should get some rest. That was nice of him. Always looking after his agents' health, isn't he? Especially when he has their team leaders breathing down his neck.

That's the fourth time Gibbs has glanced over at me in the last hour. What, does he think I'm blind or something? I do notice things. It's what I'm trained to do, after all. I know that ignoring him won't make him go away, and I know that I won't be able to deflect his questions forever, and that one of these days, I'll have to tell him all about the opp. But not today.

"Night boss." I stood up, grabbed my gear, and walked towards the stairs. Just in case.

"Tony." Damn it. I was really hoping I wouldn't have to dodge another round of questions tonight.

"Yes boss?"

"Good work on the case." Oh. Well that wasn't what I was expecting.

"Thanks boss. See you tomorrow." The confrontation seems to have been put on hold. At least for a little while. And that suits me just fine.

…**…**

**Done! For now, anyway. The sequel's are in the works, and should be up soonish, so keep an eye out for them. And thank you all you who reviewed and favourited my story. It really gave me the motivation to not give up on it. Until next time, this is brownie, signing off.**


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